But this is a pretty inaccurate version of the French. Without fail, my friend’s mom makes him far Breton every time he comes home because she knows it’s his favorite dessert. And in France, Easter is known as the holiday to eat chocolate. So I guess the critical difference must be the quantity (as it tends to be when pondering the differences between eating in France and the United States).

It’s true that after spending Easter with a French family, I understood how the package my mom sent could seem rather decadent. For the entire family they bought one beautifully sculpted hollow chocolate fish and one hollow lobster with a handful of little solid-chocolate bells (the symbols of Easter are slightly different over here).

But had my mom sent me, for example, one small chocolate bunny, the package just wouldn’t have been as impressive. This knowledge paired with the “Does she want you to get fat?” echoing in my head made me ponder the food = love equation in my relationship with my mom.